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It is hard to meet，but hard to part too，the east wind languid，hundreds of flowers wasted.
A spring silkworm may not stop spinning silk until death.
A candle’s tears dry only when it is burned down to ashes.
In the morning’s bronze mirror，you worry about the change in your hair， and you feels the moonlight cold，reading alone in the night.
Mount Penglai，so celebrated in fairy tales，cannot be located far away：
O Bluebird，please go there kindly，and take a look for me.
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